-1Let It Snow. A cute little Murtagh x Tornac story for easter inspired by the wonderful snow there was this morning. It sounds very Christmassy, I know. But really it isn't. It's the product of snow and too much HINDER music.
I'm writing most of this at 1am when really I should be sleeping, but really I can't sleep anyway and sleep's a waste of time. This will get me into trouble, no doubt, but ah, for the sake of slash it's worth it! Plus I just had a shower and my hair's dripping. I got a new shower put in and it's LOVELY. '
Title: Let It Snow
Author: LGL (aka Lou)
Genre: Romance/Humour/one-shot
Pairing: Murtagh x Tornac
Rating: M - but that's rated really over cautiously, as usual.
Warnings: Slash, though nothing graphic. Probably the most slashy I've written, but that's hardly saying much I know. I'm slowly getting more comfortable with writing it, don't know whether that's a good thing or bad… ;)
Summary: A ficlet for Easter in which Murtagh and Tornac get rather cozy in bed and rather silly in the snow. Cute one-shot M/T slash just for fun. Happy Easter!
Disclaimer: Although Tornac's characterisation is mine, the names Murtagh and Tornac are copyright to C. Paolini. I do not know or claim to be the aforementioned author. I am not making money from this. x
PLEASE R N R
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I wake up slowly, dimly aware that the air is cold against my face and that Tornac and I forgot to close the shutters last night. I think we were rather more interested in undoing things than closing them. A little wry smile crosses my face as I remember last night, as I remember the dizzying raw rush of pleasure, both mentally and gloriously toxically sensually. Tornac's wonderfully warm body pressed up against mine. Making love seems so beautiful when it involves him, and his arms around me. Our love is still wonderfully fragile, young and innocent, still filled thrill and excitement, yet so wonderfully deep, and I love it to be that way. I think that with Tornac, it will eternally be like that, and I dearly hope it will. I look to my lover . He's still asleep in my arms, warm and firm against my chest, and I like that pressure against me, reassuring and soft. I'd love to know what he's dreaming. Last night. Hmm.
Teasingly I stroke my fingers down the side of his face to wake him up, still receiving a little electrifying buzz from the feel of his bare skin against mine. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. My trainer, my friend, my lover. Mine. He moans softly in protest, and shifts in my arms. Slowly, he opens his painfully perfect silver eyes to blink up at me stupidly, such a perfect picture of child-like innocence that it's hard to believe what he spent last night doing. And that's what I adore about him; I love how sweet he is, almost too sweet to a point of being sickeningly saccharine, just too intoxicating to be pleasant. He really will be the death of me. Just like the alcoholic craves more and more until he breaches the line of safety for the sake of elated decadence, so I crave more and more of my Tornac, and I'm sure one day that will be too much. But what a wonderfully blissful death it will be.
"Good morning…" I smile as I brush matted strands of his long jet black hair between my fingers, tucking it behind his ears carefully, watching in blissful contentment as his silver eyes gradually become less clouded with sleep. My fingers embrace his softly, our hands entwining with each other. Slowly, shyly - a shyness that had he not been my lover I would still remain unaware that it was possible for him to possess - he smiles back at me, the spark of lupine brightness returning to his eyes.
"Morning." His fingers stroke my neck tenderly, the warmth, paradoxically, making me shiver. He's my darling and my master all at once, and he knows it all too well, his eyes asking me so innocently for permission to do something that he knows I want as desperately as he does. He doesn't even have to voice his desires to get exactly what he wants. Pulling him into my arms with a little smile, I kiss him softly. He grins, delighted, and kisses back hungrily, his tongue finding mine with his usual slow care, wonderfully reserved and modest. I feel him sigh happily against me. His every move is calm and gentle, never wanting anything to be rushed or awkward. Tornac is the kind of man who generally likes to keep to his gentlemanly ethics even when we're in bed, especially when we're in bed - but that doesn't mean he can't be perfectly provocative when he wants to be. He's my angel and my demon simultaneously, and I wouldn't change that for the world. I like my alluring fallen angel just the way he is, completely unpredictable, with his wings gorgeously sensually black and a knowing smile of innocent pretence on his face.
Slowly, he pulls away, hunger satisfied, silver eyes now burning with playful alert awareness, the fingers of his left hand entwining into mine. He kisses down my neck, laughing softly at the shiver of pleasure he gets in response. Slowly, teasingly, he traces his right hand over my shoulder, pressing lightly over the beginning of the smooth line of scar that maps across my back, a scar he knows every inch of perfectly. I want to spend the whole of today in bed with him, just forget about sparring and stay here with my Tornac. Not that sparring isn't enjoyable - there's something wonderfully sensual about it, and even being beaten consistently by a trainer who is all too aware he's still very much the better fighter is a delightful adrenaline rush - but sometimes the pleasurable pain of training needs to be broken up with a little freedom from routine. I never have liked routine. Tornac loves it, with the same way that he loves everything to be neat and ordered and meticulously scrupulously tidy - but really I know that more than anything else, he enjoys the thrilling rebellion of breaking it for me, with me. Besides that, even sparring isn't quite as wonderful as the thought of making love to Tornac all day, is it?
"What are you thinking?" his soft voice melts into my thoughts, a quiet loving inquiry as he brings his fingers to hold my face in his hands. I start to smile, and I suspect he can imagine the sort of trail of thoughts I was eagerly pursuing. Gently, lovingly, he brings my face towards him so that my nose is pressed lightly to his nose, my forehead to his forehead, and says my favourite three words, three short simple words that are seemingly timeless when they come from him. "I love you."
We lie in each other's arms for quite some time in silence, just enjoying the feeling of being together, before he finally says; "I think it's time to get up." I can't take my eyes off him as he gets dressed, watching with faint amusement and love as he tugs the creases - creases that I believe I made last night - out of his clothes with meticulous care. Tornac always has been fond of fancy things - it seems that the more lace there is on a shirt the more he delights in it. I watch him button his white shirt up, and pull on one of his beautiful velvet jackets that we both know he is so very fond of, dusting it off subconsciously. He rushes to my mirror to eye his reflection critically, brushing his hair through his hands a few times before, seemingly satisfied, he turns to face me, an eager smile on his face.
"You are so very slow!" he gasps in exasperation, seeing that I have been so enthralled in watching him that I have only managed to pull on trousers somewhat half-heartedly. "Do you need me to help you get dressed?" he asks, folding his arms and watching, once again my trainer, critical of my all too apparent slowness. Slowly, so very slowly, I pull my shirt on, my eyes never once leaving him. He rushes over to me and embraces me, starting to laugh. "You're so hopeless! Murtagh, Murtagh… you're so hopeless and I can't help but love you!" he takes my face in his hands, and his touch is so soft as he kisses me lightly. His voice softens. "I love you."
We might have stayed like this forever if his eyes hadn't flickered to the open window, and fixed on it with child-like excitement. "Murtagh, it's snowing!" Tornac, the loveable thing that he is, has a wonderful rush of immaturity and is suddenly filled with the thrill of the white flakes dancing past our window. I somehow knew that his seriousness could not be preserved for long. His silver eyes start to shine in longing as he watches the way that the snow whirls and twists. If there is a single thing that could challenge Tornac's adoration of routine, it is surely snow. I can still remember with blissful clarity our first sparring lessons that we did in the snow. I think at the time those were not particularly appreciated by me. I didn't see the entertainment of freezing and training. Now the thought seems much more appetising. Just the two of us, nothing but cold and frigidly beautiful white and Tornac's warmth like my personal fire in the middle of it.
"Murtagh?" he asks softly, biting his lip and eyeing me with pleading askance that he knows all too well may as well be a command. "Sparring?"
I can't refuse him, and before I have enough time to comprehend it, we are standing in the snow, both laughing but neither completely sure why, his beautiful silver eyes gleaming. As he calls for us to start, my mind settles into the wonderful beautiful violence of swords, and the clash of metal as his meets mine. We always begin slowly, both giving the other a chance to warm to the fight, to the precious moments of the swords starting to reintroduce each other to their surfaces. It's a love affair, my hand-and-a-half recognising the somehow altogether more feminine slender length of his sword. As blood starts to course around my veins I'm lost in the rhythm, in our rhythm, as it speeds up, and our bodies are brought together by the swords that throw us apart again. Tornac is the fastest fighter I know, and my style is coming more and more to mirror his, so that everything about our sparring is a furious race of adrenaline. It's so fast that my mind whirls into dizzy intoxication. My heart starts to race furiously, adrenaline taking control over my senses as they are filled with intoxicating, wonderful Tornac, and I'm drunk on him all over again. The snow is so wonderful around us, the cold against my skin only serving to make this union more precious and more appreciated.
In our special, private way, sparring together is like making love, it's that personal, that beautiful. It's the continuous little bursts of pleasure, each little blow and each clash of the metal making my heart speed faster and faster, my mind whirl out of consciousness into a reality where nothing exists save for Tornac, and I, and the snow, and I can't even stop to breathe because it's so intense, and it's a violent passionate romance, building up speed at a relentless pace, the surging of blood around my body, and the contact as our swords meet, and his beautiful eyes, and the rhythm and the cold snow around me, as it falls faster, faster, faster, and everything around me is speeding beyond what my mind can comprehend, and I'm dizzy and everything is about Tornac and I've lost control but then again I don't even want control all I want is him and his body against mine and I want him and it's this lust for him that keeps my heart speeding and the air is full of the clash of steel and I'm falling into dizzying oblivion and each pleasurable shock of pain through my body as the metal collides too fast brings me closer and closer to him so that I can't tell the difference between us anymore and there's a spark as his blade meets mine faster than before and I'm spinning breathless in a haze of him, of Tornac, Tornac, Tornac -
In a flurry of snow and the dark blur of Tornac, my foot slips on the ice that the snow is turning to, throwing his balance too so that I tumble backwards, landing with a soft thump on my back, Tornac reeling after me and landing straddled on top of me, his reflexes fast enough to shove out his hand and stop himself from smashing into me. He looks down, eyebrow cocked comically, like an animal examining its prey in bemusement, not entirely sure of what it is that it has caught. We stay there for a moment, panting for breath. Finally, he leans down, his mouth finding mine, and kisses me softly, smiling. My mind starts to return from it's high elation as his tongue meets mine and we draw out our perfect little moment.
He pulls away and stares at me in contentment. I reach up to touch his face, smiling with pure happiness… and then yelp as, still grinning, Tornac shoves snow inside the neck of my shirt. I squirm uncomfortably underneath him, and his smile gets more and more forcibly controlled until he can't hold it any longer and starts to laugh.
His laugh is cut off in bemusement as I toss a handful of snow in his face. He blinks in confusion for a moment, a moment that is long enough for me to roll over, bringing him with me so that I'm the one on top of him. Laughing softly, I distract him with my mouth on his. He can't get enough of our moment and kisses back hungrily, stiffening in surprise and shock as I push snow into his shirt. Tornac actually squeaks. I don't think I've ever heard a man squeak before and find it hideously amusing. Once I start to laugh I find that I can't, and just keep on laughing and laughing, finding Tornac so perfectly hilarious that I would have laughed forever if he hadn't gathered up snow in his hands and pushed them under my shirt teasingly, producing another yell of surprise on my behalf.
We roll about in the snow, wrapped in each others arms, laughing and all the time trying to find a way to throw more snow at the other. Finally we end up so that Tornac is on top of me again, and there's something thrilling about his warmth so close to me. In a striking similarity to when we're in bed, the mood finally calms and quiets so that it's all about the presence of the other, all about the experience of being together after our little experience of bliss.
"Ah, Murtagh, Murtagh…. I love you." he strokes my neck lovingly, and I stare up at him, his beautiful big silver eyes reflecting so wonderfully in my brown ones. My arms wrap around his waist possessively, as my mind starts to darken with remembered looks of disgust, whispered comments of disapproval. Every shout or glance is enough to tear me up, but I can't let go of him. He's just too precious to me, and if this is my sure route to hell as I'm told loving another man is, then I'll happily be damned for it, because I just love him too much. But I can't help wondering why, why would I be so damned? Because it's forbidden, of course it is, to love another man with all your heart... And I can't make sense of it. If I were to love any woman it would be accepted, and plainly regarded as life's natural spin, but somehow to love an angel is a sin? Tornac makes me come alive like I've never been alive before, he feels right in every single way possible, so how can they call our love something so wrong? The first person to care properly about me, to care whether I live or I die, to care what happens to me and how I feel. And that's something no threat of hell could ever make me walk away from. I'd rather die a sinner because I loved him than to die an angel alone. I try not to think, I really do, because I know it just makes good things bad and bad things worse, but I can't help but think of him every minute I have to spare.
"Thinking again?" He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "Forever thinking, Murtagh, forever thinking…" He rolls onto his back and pulls me into his arms so that we're both staring up at the sky together. Somehow just being in his arms is enough for me now, my mind far away from our passion of swords and love, and dreaming in the realms of the sensation of safety that comes with his embrace.
We lie together for a long time, in the most beautiful blissful silence that speaks all the words we could ever have filled it with and more. There is the vague feeling of his fingers stroking through my hair, and my hand wrapping and unwrapping around his, but just his presence is enough for me now, just to lie and watch the snow fall towards us knowing that we're so in love and nothing can break us apart. Nothing. And I'm the happiest man I have ever been, and it's all because of him. My beautiful darling.
"Tornac?" I finally whisper, a little smile starting to spread on my face.
"mmm?"
"I love you."
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I'll have to finish there because I've been working on this for a few hours solidly now in my pyjamas and I have to go and do some art work because I'm painfully aware that my deadline is coming up!! Oo
Please R n R.